


Scrubs

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Octavia Street musings [18]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: I couldn’t leave Nick out.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert
Series: Octavia Street musings [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1096452
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	Scrubs

**Author's Note:**

> According to Adam Kay in This Is Going To Hurt, this is more common than you’d think 😂

Nick lay back on the gurney with a sigh. He was never going to sleep, but he really needed to.

A combination of a bug doing the rounds, and the approaching end of the financial year meaning colleagues had leave to use up, had left the hospital short-staffed. Bob, his boss, had begged him to cover the night shift, and Nick couldn’t really refuse. He’d already worked all day; he’d taken a quick break at five to grab a meal from the canteen, ring Ilsa and explain, and then he’d done evening ward rounds. He now had a couple of hours before the next set of observations, and if he was lucky, his pager wouldn’t go off. He’d retired to the “resting area” as they laughingly called it - basically a hospital trolley in a stock cupboard where doctors working impossible hours could take a quick nap.

It was many years since he’d done a double shift. Back in his med school days he’d had his body and mind well trained. Living permanently on the edge of exhaustion, he’d been practised at dropping into sleep for an hour and bouncing back recharged enough to work another eight. He’d lost the knack.

He’d stripped off his clothes which he’d been wearing for his day job, a shirt and tie for office hours and clinic, and was back in familiar hospital scrubs for the night shift. At least they were more comfortable to sleep in than smart trousers and a shirt collar.

The room was dark but the door fitted badly, harsh fluorescent light spilling in through the cracks. He sighed and rolled to face the other way, his back to the door, the narrow gurney squeaking as he turned. Footsteps passed back and forth outside. He sighed again.

His mind wandered to home, wondering what Ilsa was doing, and suddenly his libido surged.

He’d woken that morning from a delicious half-remembered dream, lust singing in his veins, and had rolled to spoon her in their bed, nudging his morning wood against her bottom suggestively, but she’d surfaced with a sleepy giggle and batted him off gently.

“Wrong time of the month,” she’d murmured as he slid a hand across the curve of her hip and down the glorious softness of her stomach. He’d groaned into her ear, a low sound of frustration, and she’d arched back into him, turning her head to kiss him, the angle awkward but her tongue licking into his mouth, fanning the flames even more.

“Save it for a couple of days,” she’d added, grinning softly, and rolled away from him.

“We could still—” he’d muttered hopefully, his erection tenting the bedclothes, but she’d given him a fond shake of her head and indicated the clock. There wasn’t time for anything, really - she had an early meeting before court and he’d wanted to go over a few things with Bob before clinic, and so his hopeful libido had been ignored in favour of a cool shower.

He was pretty sure she’d chosen her outfit deliberately, though. She knew he loved that soft cream-coloured blouse with the tiny pearl buttons that fastened right up to her throat. He’d spent many a pleasurable evening slowly, slowly undoing them. And she didn’t normally pull her legal gown on in the house, tending to just throw it into the back of the car. She knew what her court outfit did to him, and had lingered in a long, slow kiss before she left that had had him aroused and aching all over again, obliged to wait a couple of minutes before he could set off for work himself.

He huffed a sigh at his wayward thoughts, his hand moving down to where his insistent erection pressed now against the front of his hospital issue trousers. It wasn’t going to be denied a third time today, and he wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he’d dealt with it.

A wry smile ghosted across his face in the semi-darkness as his hand slid below his elasticated waistband. He remembered a very drunk, very lewd conversation with fellow med students at the start of their careers about the best places around a hospital for such furtive activities. Most had favoured a cubicle in the gents, some the resting area, and one colleague had even admitted to indulging in a dark corner of the doctors’ lounge under a coat, which had earned him shouts of disbelieving laughter and an order to buy the next round. Nobody quite knew who to believe; still, a roll of the paper normally used to line examining tables lived under the gurney he was lying on, and was always replaced when it was empty despite never apparently being used.

His thoughts went back to Ilsa as his hand caressed his cock, sliding along the aching length of it. Eyes closed, he imagined he was at home, in the kitchen with her, sliding his arms around her from behind at the counter, kissing her neck, exploring the soft patch below her ear. He loved the smell of her in the evening, her perfume long since soaked into her skin, her own delicate scent combining with the remnants of it. She smelled of familiarity and home, but also of all his desires, soft and feminine and his.

He groaned a little under his breath and wrestled with the front of his loose trousers, still lying on his side, pulling his erection free to give him better access. In his mind’s eye he was undoing the tiny, tiny buttons on that blouse now, slowly working his way down to expose her glorious breasts, while in the hospital rest room his hand slid faster and his pleasure built.

He’d been on the edge of arousal all day; this wasn’t going to take long. He slowed a little, wanting to linger in his fantasy a while longer. His breath came faster now as he imagined pressing Ilsa gently back against the kitchen counter, rucking her neat little pencil skirt up so she could part her thighs for him. In reality she wore sheer tights for court, but in his fantasy it was always stockings with no knickers, giving him access to her straightaway, to caress and stroke, to lift her up onto the counter and slide into her with a groan.

He was passing the point of no return, his fist working fast and his breaths shuddering as he half-imagined, half-remembered the fantasy he was creating - he’d persuaded her on a few occasions to indulge in the kitchen.

A clatter of a passing trolley and footsteps outside the door broke into his reverie, dragging his eyes open. Panting, he stilled his hand, the fantasy fading, the unfulfilled ache a torment as he waited for the sounds to recede. He was on the edge, hovering deliciously, and as the intrusion passed on by, his hand moved a little again, his thumb ghosting over the head of his cock, smearing drops of leaking fluid across himself, pleasure pulsing.

His eyes drifted closed again, his hand resuming its rhythm, and without warning he was suddenly over the finish line, Ilsa in his fevered imagination convulsing in his arms as he groaned and spilled across his hand and the edge of the bed. His hips jerked, the pleasure powerful as it broke free of the dam that had held it back all day, and he stroked long sweeps along his length, keeping it going as long as he could until he felt wrung out and truly sated.

He stilled, panting, and lay in the gloom, eyes closed, heart rate slowing.

Eventually he gave a low grunt of satisfaction and reached down for the roll of paper. He mopped up as best he could, wadding up the tissue and dropping it to the floor, readjusting himself back into his scrubs. He flopped over onto his back, his forearm across his eyes, and sighed. He’d be able to sleep now.

And in a couple of days he could have the real thing again. Grinning to himself in the darkness, he allowed his mind to drift, letting sleep claim him.


End file.
